


slipping, tumbling, sinking, fumbling

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clumsiness, Coworkers to lovers, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Curse Breaker Harry Potter, Curse Breaking, Curses, Draco Needs Personal Space, Frottage, M/M, Magic Sensitivity, Magical Compatibility, Sharing a Bed, spell accident, there's more than one bed but they're only using one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Draco's not a touchy kind of person and likes to keep firm personal boundaries... Until Harry is hit with some kind of curse that makes him clumsy, making it necessary for Draco to keep catching him. He realizes how very nice it is to have his hands on Harry...all overHarry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021530
Comments: 44
Kudos: 355





	slipping, tumbling, sinking, fumbling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xanthippe74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/gifts).



> i asked for prompts during a HUGE mental block and some gorgeous people sent me some truly incredible ideas; this is the first one! thank you so very much xanthippe74, i hope this did what you had in mind justice!

“Fuck,” Draco mutters to himself when he turns the corner and sees who’s waiting for him outside the cordoned-off building. “Thanks for nothing, Bill; _no, Draco, I’m not holding a grudge from when you got pissed and snogged my brother at Christmas,_ my arse.”

And it hadn’t even been the _hot_ brother.

Suppressing a shudder at the memory, Draco pastes a no-doubt unconvincing smile as he approaches. “Alright, Potter; Bill put you on this one too?”

Potter looks up, and his smile is blinding. Draco’s back teeth grind together. He thinks he must look manic by now, but Potter doesn’t seem to notice.

“Draco, there you are! Yeah, he said the initial sweep showed a lot of those fiddly little locking spells and he wanted me on hand just in case— _not_ that you can’t handle it,” he adds hastily, eyes going big and earnest. “Just as a backup, you see. And, well, when he said he’d put you on this one, of course I agreed.”

“Of course,” Draco grits out, turning to face the building. “Grand. Did you have time to review the files before he sent you over?”

“Briefly,” Potter says, moving so they’re standing next to each other, looking up at the unassuming facade. Their shoulders brush. Draco subtly shifts to the side. Potter shifts with him. Their shoulders are still brushing. “Accidental magic from the kid set off some sort of nasty Dark shit, yeah? I didn’t realize there was one of the Old Homes in Bermondsey.”

Draco sneers. “One of the Travers’ get, no doubt. They never did have any taste—or money. This would have been some distant cousin trying to impress the main branch of the family by overdoing the ward spells, no doubt; I’m not surprised it’s fallen off the record books, who’d want to claim this pile?” He sounds like a complete snob, he knows, but really, the house is hideous.

Potter smothers a chuckle and elbows him slyly. Draco closes his eyes and counts to five. “Too right, Draco. Well, shall we? Want me to take down the main ward, so you can do that...smell thing you do?”

Draco counts to ten this time. “It’s not a _smell thing,_ Potter. It’s _magic sensitivity_. How many times do I have to explain this? I should _never_ have told you yours reminds me of caramel; you’re never going to let it go, are you?” He sighs. “But...yes, if you don’t mind, please take the seal down.”

“Oh, unclench, Malfoy; you love explaining this shit,” Potter says cheerfully, flicking his fingers at the shimmering barrier. It slowly dissolves into the air, and Draco manfully restrains a shiver as Harry’s magic flows back over them, task completed.

He bloody _hates_ that Potter’s magic smells so good. Feels so good. Fuck, whatever. And there’s always _so much of it_ ; Potter might have all the subtlety and sensitivity of an Erumpent in a Potions shop, but he’s bloody powerful, and he knows it too, never missing an opportunity to fling his wandless magic all over kingdom come, showing up Curse Breakers who have actual _knowledge_ with his brute force.

So maybe Draco’s not being entirely fair. He can’t help it; the feel of Potter’s magic sliding over his skin as it retreats is enough to distract him from his often life-or-death critical tasks. Between the constant semi-arousing magic, Potter’s grating cheeriness and insistence on trying to add Draco to his cadre of _friends,_ Merlin forbid, and of course...

“After you,” Potter says, clapping Draco on the shoulder. Draco breathes in deeply through his nose and starts walking towards the front steps.

...the constant _touching_.

Draco’s not unfriendly, by any means. He can charm his way into any social circle, and out of any uncomfortable situation. He makes friends easily, socializes effortlessly, and genuinely enjoys being around people. He just _doesn’t like being touched_ , and Potter seems to be utterly unable to grasp that if he would simply stop _manhandling_ Draco at any opportunity, Draco might be more amenable to this horrid _friendship_ kick Potter’s on.

Well, maybe. There would still be the matter of his magic reaching out to Draco’s in a way that nobody else’s ever has, including Astoria’s (and they were _engaged_ ); even if Potter doesn’t notice it, having absolutely no magical sensitivity whatsoever, _Draco_ can’t help but be aware of it whenever they’re together.

Draco’s distracted enough by the aftereffects of Potter’s spell that he steps too close to the home without checking his Occlumency barriers, and as soon as his foot touches the first step he doubles over and almost vomits.

“Oh, shit, Draco, are you alright? Fuck, what happened?” Potter’s voice is concerned, and he’s resting a hand on the nape of Draco’s neck, lightly enough that it doesn’t bother him for once.

“Yes,” Draco gasps after a moment, wrenching his shields back into place. “ _Salazar_. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this, Potter. That was singularly unpleasant. Whichever Travers bastard set these curses up, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing; it’s not just Dark, it’s corrupted. Feels bloody awful.” Even with his shields reinforced, Draco can feel the slimy tendrils of the house writhing around him, seeking entry. His skin is crawling as he straightens and steps out of Potter’s reach. “Let’s be quick. The wardstone shouldn’t be too hard to find; he’s done something horrific to it, it’ll stand out. Watch out, though.”

“Right,” Potter says, and Draco can see him squaring his shoulders out of the corner of his eye. “Look, maybe you should hang back and let me go first; you can keep an eye out for the stone, and I can take care of whatever obstacles the house throws at us.”

As much as Draco hates to admit it, it’s a good plan. He begrudgingly admits that maybe Bill knows what he’s doing after all. “Fine, Potter. Do try not to blast everything you see to smithereens, though; I’d imagine the McKilips would like a home to come back to, once it’s cleared out.”

Potter nods distractedly; he’s already crouched at the front door, plucking at the strands of magic holding it locked. Draco can feel the faint _ping_ as each thread vibrates under Potter’s touch, and it sets his teeth on edge and sends goosebumps rushing all over his skin. A tendril of Potter’s magic snakes away from the door, back to where Draco is standing; he slaps it away as it attempts to twine with his own magic.

He really, really hates the seesaw of sensations working with Potter always puts him through.

“Ah!” Potter exclaims, springing to his feet as the door creaks open. “Excellent. Let me just check the threshold—oh, _that_ would have been nasty—and we’re clear.” He steps into the house, finally pulling his wand out and holding it in his left hand— _he doesn’t even use his wand with his dominant hand anymore,_ truly Draco cannot _stand_ him—and after a moment beckons Draco through. “Should be safe in the entryway.”

Draco, sensibly, keeps his wand up and ready as he cautiously steps into the house. The magic presses down on him, and to his annoyance, he finds himself drawing closer to Potter, who gives him a quick glance, mouth drawn down in sympathy. The strain must be showing on his face, then. Splendid. “Let’s get going,” he mutters, cocking his head and closing his eyes. “I think...to the left, first.”

“Stay behind me,” Potter says firmly, striding off in the indicated direction. Draco’s eyes drift down to the firm, well-muscled arse under the tight trousers Potter prefers while he’s working, but as soon as he catches what he’s looking at he scowls to himself and hurries to catch up.

On top of all of it, Potter has the absolute _cheek_ to be so shockingly fit it haunts Draco’s dreams. This job is going to kill him.

They make their way through the house carefully, Potter blasting away errant curses while Draco marks down their categories and guides them closer to where the wardstone is. As off as all the spells are, he’s fairly certain that removing and disabling the stone will set the house to rights, which means they should be able to wrap this job up with a minimum of paperwork and possibly even an afternoon off if Draco plays his cards right.

Finally, they reach the largest study, up on the second floor, and Draco has to stop and take a deep breath before entering the room. Potter hadn’t detected anything dangerous inside, but the stone is off-kilter with all its curses being systematically removed, and it’s enough to make Draco nauseated even behind his shields.

“It’s in here, isn’t it?” Potter asks quietly, crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall as Draco slowly steps in. “You look ill.”

“Thanks _ever_ so, Potter,” Draco snaps, striding to a couch pushed up against a wall and Levitating it out of the way. “Charming as always, I see. It’s under the floorboard over here; don’t come closer, I need to focus. Just be ready with a Stasis once I get it out.”

“I didn’t mean— Bloody hell, Draco, you’re so sensitive, you _know_ what I meant,” Potter huffs out, shifting from foot to foot. Draco doesn’t have time for his strop, though, because he’s slowly peeling the wood back bit by bit, biting his lip with the effort it takes to not disturb the stone itself. It’s aware of them now, and the buzz echoing around his head is almost unbearable.

“Coming,” he grunts, Levitating the stone out from where it’s nestled in the baseboard, and Potter snaps a heavy Stasis at it almost immediately.

Not soon enough, though; a bolt of purple light jets out from the stone just before the Stasis closes over it, and from the cry behind him, it’s hit Potter.

“Potter,” he calls, unable to look away from the stone. “Are you alright? Anything serious?”

“Err. No, I don’t think so? Just made me feel sick for a moment, but I think I’m fine…”

“Good. Stay there. I’m going to get this thing out of the house, and then I’ll come back for you. No, _don’t_ move, you know protocol—and you’ve already cleared a path, I’ll be fine. Stay here,” he orders, pinning Potter with a glare as soon as he’s turned back around, one eye still on the wardstone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Potter mutters, sitting on the floor and hugging his knees. “Go on, then. Fuck, Bill’s going to absolutely _heap_ the paperwork on, isn’t he—I’d hoped to get out early, I have a date tonight.”

Draco ignores the curl of—of _nothing,_ nothing at all—and rolls his eyes. “No doubt whoever it is will be perfectly happy to wait on you,” he says, trying for a sneer and falling far short.

Potter shrugs. “I’ll probably just cancel, honestly. It’s a setup and I’m not that keen on him.”

“Not fawning enough?”

“Not _blond_ enough, actually.”

Draco rolls his eyes as obviously as he can and slowly exits the room. “Whatever, Potter. Seriously, don’t move until I get back and run diagnostics. Weasley will have my head if anything happens to you.”

“As if. He loves you. If your antics last Christmas weren’t enough to make him cross with you, nothing is. And I’ll wear you down one of these days, Draco; you may as well stop resisting!” This last bit is shouted out the room as Draco makes his way down the stairs.

Ah, yes, the _other_ reason Draco hates being around Potter (he should really start a written list): all this bloody fake flirting and _I really like you Draco_ and _Why won’t you let me take you out, just once_. Draco hates being the butt of someone’s joke, even when it’s not meant maliciously, and he hates how flustered false attention like that makes him feel.

Once he gets the wardstone off the property, it’s the work of just a few minutes to crush it down to nothingness, and as he steps back into the house he’s finally able to drop his shields; as he expected, all the wonky Dark magic is gone, and all that’s left is the residual magic of the McKilips and their charmingly precocious toddler. He’s breathing much easier as he makes it back to the second-floor study, and he finds Potter still obediently sitting on the floor.

Draco throws every diagnostic spell he knows at Potter, but they all come back clean. He frowns, but Potter clearly isn’t hurting, so finally he shrugs. “Lucky once again, it looks like. I don’t see anything. We’ll still have to record that it happened, but maybe the stone was so warped it wasn’t able to properly defend itself.”

Potter beams up at him, his eyes far too large and green for Draco’s liking, and springs to his feet— At least, he tries.

“Woah!” he cries as his feet come out from under him, and Draco instinctively reaches out to grab him before he can fall flat on his arse. “Thanks, Draco. Christ, what was _that_?”

“Right, because you’re well-known for your grace,” Draco says drily, releasing him as soon as he’s sure Potter is steady.

Potter huffs a laugh. “Prat. Let’s get out of here.”

It’s when Potter’s almost fallen down the stairs for the third time that Draco begins to think that maybe the spell had done something after all.

“Oh, _really_?” Potter grits out when Draco voices this thought, glaring up at him from the landing. Draco hadn’t been fast enough to grab him before he fell that time. “Look, just—let’s get out of here. Maybe once we’re out it’ll stop?”

It doesn’t, because Draco is _never_ that lucky, and he’s forced to let Potter drape a wiry, firm arm over his shoulder and wind his own arm around Potter’s trim waist to get them out of the house and back to where they can safely Apparate back to the office.

Bill does his best to not laugh at them, but a few chuckles slip out when Potter has to throw his arms around Draco’s neck when he tries to get up from his chair, forcing Draco to pull Potter’s torso up against his to keep them both from tumbling over. Draco shoots him a venomous glare, but Bill only winks at him and shoos them to St Mungo’s.

The Healers can’t find any signs of a curse—bloody useless, Draco _knew_ this would be a waste of time—and send them home with a warning to return immediately if symptoms worsen, and a suggestion that perhaps Potter shouldn’t be alone until it wears off as they’re hoping it will.

And, well. Potter’s his partner; whenever they work together, he does everything he can to keep Draco safe, sometimes at the expense of his own well-being. So Draco would really have to be the worst type of person if he didn’t offer to bring Potter home with him for the evening.

It certainly has _nothing_ to do with how Potter feels in his arms, or with how their magic is eagerly tying together with each touch that sometimes feels closer to a caress. His strictly-enforced personal space is crumbling with each passing minute, and Draco can’t bring himself to get angry about it, not when Potter is warm, and muscular, and smells so nice.

They manage to get through dinner with a minimum of chaos, once Draco directs Potter firmly to the sofa and tells him to _stay there_ under threat of a Body-Bind—he simply cannot cook if Potter is underfoot, distracting him with those eyes and knocking pans and plates and bloody _knives_ all over the room. Getting ready for bed is slightly more fraught as Draco has to help Potter with changing into (Draco’s!) pyjamas, but finally he gets Potter safely into bed.

Just as he’s about to leave for his own bedroom and some blessed _peace,_ Potter clears his throat. “Er...Draco, just. What if I need to get up in the night? I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it to the door, let alone the loo or the kitchen…”

Draco heaves a deep, deep sigh. He should be putting in for hazard pay for this. “I suppose you’re suggesting I spend the night in here,” he says without turning back to face the bed. He can tell his face is bright red, and Potter doesn’t need to see that.

“Sorry,” Potter says, and he sounds miserable. “I know this is… Well. I know you barely tolerate me, and this has got to be your worst nightmare, and...I’m sorry, as much as I joke around I do get that this isn’t exactly ideal for you, but…” He trails off, and Draco’s shoulders slump.

“It’s fine. I’m going to get ready for bed; do endeavor to not hurt yourself while I’m gone,” he replies waspishly, fleeing to his bedroom for a few minutes to gather himself.

 _He can’t help it, and you should_ not _be perving on his magic while he’s indisposed,_ he scolds himself as he brushes his teeth and changes.

Finally, with a sense of dread, he goes back into the guest room. Potter’s dimmed the lights almost all the way, and Draco can barely make out the lump that is his body under the duvet, curled up and facing away from the door.

Draco sighs and slips under the covers, spelling the lights the rest of the way off. “Good night,” he says awkwardly.

He doesn’t get a response. He doesn’t expect one.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s warm, and his head feels floaty, and his magic is practically _purring_ at him, its normal crisp orange...bloody fuck, _smell_ really is the best descriptor for it, blast Potter to hell—all wrapped up in a warm, rich…

Draco tries to sit up, but can’t, because _Potter_ is curled up into his side, and his arm is over Draco’s chest, and their magic has twisted together overnight, and it’s giving Draco a headrush, and he’s _hard_.

“Potter,” he hisses, and when that doesn’t work, “Harry!” a bit louder.

“Hmmmmwhat,” Potter says muzzily, tugging Draco closer and lipping at his collarbone. Draco closes his eyes in despair and tries to will his erection away.

“Potter, we’ve got a bit of a situation here,” Draco says, ending on a wheeze as Potter’s leg creeps over his own and nudges against his cock.

Potter chuckles into his neck. “I’ll say,” he says. “Is that for me?”

“It’s— Oh _god,_ Potter, that feels— Wait. _Wait_. Potter, it’s our magic, your bloody handsy fucking magic has gotten all tangled up with mine, that’s what it is, and now we’re— Ohhh,” Draco can’t stop the moan as Potter’s leg slips between his and his thigh presses against Draco’s prick.

“I know, I can feel it. You know, I never can sense what you’re talking about, with the magic...except when mine touches yours. I don’t know why, but whenever I get within a few feet of you and I get distracted enough that it does its own thing, I can tell whenever it’s reaching out for yours. You _know_ what that means, Draco; did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Potter rolls so that he’s straddling Draco’s hips now, with his hands planted on either side of Draco’s head; without his glasses, his eyes are so, so green.

Draco is, for the first time in a while, speechless. “What—” he finally manages, eyes dropping involuntarily to Potter’s mouth, which is tight in frustration.

“I know you don’t like me; I don’t know what I’ve done recently to make you so unhappy to spend time in my presence, but really, don’t you have _any_ desire to try and work on it, and see what this could be? I mean…” Potter closes his eyes and shivers a bit, and his cock is pressed against Draco’s, and Draco bites down a moan. “I _know_ you can feel that; if even _I_ can, it must be so much more for you. Don’t you want to see if we could work?”

Draco must be silent for a moment too long, because the light in Potter’s eyes dims a bit, and he starts to pull himself up, and _that_ won’t do; Draco reaches out and grabs Potter’s hips, pulling him down again.

Potter falls against his torso with a surprised yelp, which turns quickly into a groan when Draco thrusts up, rubbing them together through the thin, silky cotton of the pyjama bottoms. “Fuck,” Potter hisses out, and their magic snaps sweet-smelling sparkles over them, and that’s about all Draco can be expected to withstand.

Their mouths crash together, but Potter gentles the kiss almost immediately, and he sets a steady rocking rhythm against Draco, and between the friction on his cock and Harry’s tongue in his mouth and their magic dancing together, Draco feels like he’s going to pass out.

He pulls his head back and bites down on Potter’s neck, feeling Potter tremble in his arms. Draco gets a firm grip on Potter’s arse, and it feels just as incredible as it looks in those bloody trousers, and it’s not long before they’re both shuddering and coming.

Potter pants against Draco’s neck as they recover, and Draco finds that he doesn’t want to let Potter go, even though his come is cooling sticky in his pyjamas.

They’re quiet for a while, their magic quiescent and glowing, and Draco almost slips to sleep when Potter starts talking.

“So,” he says hesitantly, propping himself up and meeting Draco’s blurry gaze. “Do you. Did you. I mean. What do you…”

Draco sighs. “Is it the orgasm, or are you always this eloquent in the mornings?” His tone is fond, and he doesn’t bother to try and disguise that.

Potter smiles slowly at him. “I guess you’ll have the opportunity to find out?” he offers. It’s still a question, an offer, but really, there’s only one answer.

“Guess I will,” Draco says softly, getting a hand on the back of Potter’s head and pulling him down for another kiss.

It’s long minutes before they separate, and Harry’s smile is incandescent. “Tea?” he asks, rolling off to Draco’s side and stretching.

“That would be lovely,” Draco says, reaching up to touch his numb, swollen lips. “Far right cabinet.”

“Be right back,” Potter says jauntily, and Draco feels the mattress move as he gets to his feet.

Suddenly, Draco sits up. “Potter, wait—!”

“Fuck!” Potter curses as he slips and falls flat on his arse.

Draco cringes. “Curse still active then?”

Potter glares up at him from the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m not going to tell you which brother; sorry not sorry.
> 
> and yes, the title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qgIUAfZ1SE), and i'm not sorry about that either.
> 
> my tumblr is [here](), come say hi!


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